The Windrider
by mad-and-moonly
Summary: This is the tale of Ororo Munroe- goddess and thief. When Storm is transformed into a younger version of herself, Remy takes her under his wing. (Major AU)
1. Preface

Hello!

This is the first fic that I've uploaded for all to see!

Reviews are appreciated- they urge me to keep writing.

This is the story of the Windrider's life and loves.

All of the characters belong to Marvel unless otherwise indicated.

Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 1

THIS CHAPTER IS RATED K

* * *

**Chapter One**

_Kenya_

_The Serengeti Plain_

_June 15th, 1968_

_10:34 PM_

* * *

A roll of thunder punctuated the warm stillness of the cloudless night. It echoed across the dust choked earth of the valley. Nafula crouched on her heels in a corner of the nursery, waiting.

"One,

Two,

Three,

Fou-"

Her counting was cut short by another low rumble- louder this time and accompanied by a crack of white lightning that rent the sky in two. Nafula furrowed her brow in suspicion. Could it be?

"One

Two,

Th-"

She stopped suddenly and righted herself, her aged body cracking and her muscles groaning in protest. Quickly she moved toward the window, whips of wind tugging at the heaviness of her robes.

She did not jump when the lightning moved closer, glancing off a tree branch and disappearing into the dryness of the Kenyan earth. In the half darkness she surveyed the charred Baobab tree, its lost limb lay smoking on the ground several feet from its body.

She watched, unspeaking as the winds escalated, battering the houses in the valley below. Dervishes of dust and dried branches skittered across the ground outside before being flung aloft by the impetuous arms of the air.

Enormous clouds gathered, obscuring the moon and plunging the valley into further darkness. With the darkness came a chill Nafula felt to the marrow of her bones. She shivered as still more clouds came, flooding the valley with the reverberating growl of thunder. The wind shrieked past her, pealing past her ears- surrounding her body entirely. Nafula turned on her heels. She lifted a wondering hand to her face, having felt the cold sting of a snowflake.

Her steps were sure and unhurried. Turning from the window she approached the child carefully, wrapping it gently in blankets before lifting it from its cradle. The warm bundle stirred slightly, and Nafula sheltered its body from the gale blustering behind her.

"Shhh." she whispered, rocking the infant lest it wake. The child lifted its hand as if in defiance, it's tiny fist held high in the air.

Nafula watched, frightened, as the Baobab tree was uprooted and blown skyward.

None of her years as an acolyte had prepared her for this. Once the child's squirming ceased she hurried to the door. Opening it to the hallway she paused momentarily to brace herself before plunging into the openness of the palace.

Gusts of wind greeted her. Sleet fell from the sky and hail battered the marble of the palace floors.

Nafula hunched her body further as the child began to whimper, attempting to ignore the gray presence of a swirling tornado tearing houses from their roots like wooden toys. Flashes of lightning illuminated the columns of the hall, flinging the night into daytime brightness before again engulfing the valley in darkness.

Snowdrifts that had accumulated in her path lowered the temperature further, and Nafula cursed silently as she nearly slipped on the wetness of the palace floor. After regaining her footing she continued walking. The weather should never be like this. It was- she glanced at the sleeping child- unnatural.

Arduously she labored for the end of the hallway, cursing the openness of the halls, cursing the frailty of her body, Goddess forgive her. At long last she reached the door, genuflecting before knocking.

No answer.

She knocked again only to find the door had been pulled from her knuckles' reach. Opened.

Nafula looked up into the eyes of her queen. Trembling she presented the swaddled infant. The queen scanned the shivering woman before her- distress evident in the rigidness of her posture and the pulse jumping in her wizened throat.

"N'Dare, I dare not calm her."

The queen motioned for the trembling Nafula to rise. Only once she was on her feet did she motion for the older woman to hand her the child. Nafula was greeted with a terse smile- teeth contrasting sharply with skin the color of burnt umber.

Emboldened by survival she stole a glance at the queen's bedchambers. Inside them the night remained as warm and still as it was outside just minutes before.

Some gentle perfume wafted from cones smoking on a plate. It filled her lungs and nestled in the back of her throat.

_ Myrrh?_

N'Dare motioned for Nafula to enter. Outside the sky raged.

N'Dare spoke to the child in low tones, her blue eyes a constant presence on the swaddled one in her arms. Subtly the equilibrium of the room shifted- the air pressure increasing minutely. Nafula swallowed in an effort to clear her ears.

N'Dare's murmurs ceased as she studied the child's face. Concern marred her lovely features as she listened to the storm raging all about them.

Nafula envisioned the houses in her mind's eye. They flew through the frigid skies like a child's blocks, she thought. Only this room was cocooned in warmth. Again Nafula wondered.

The temperature lowered by a degree, snatching her from her musings. A whip of wind lifted the blanket from the bundle now in N'Dare's lap.

Nafula shuddered despite herself.

_It was true._

The child lay uncovered, her white hair waving slightly in the static that surrounded her. Her eyes glowed a pupilless, eerie white blue.

"Ororo." N'Dare commanded. "Be still."

Outside the massive skeleton of the Baobab tree fell earthward with a crash- the winds propelling it had died.


	3. Chapter 2

THIS CHAPTER IS RATED T (FOR LANGUAGE)

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Westchester, New York

1407 Greymalkin Lane

February 4th, 1992

3:26 PM

* * *

**The Institute **

"Well I guess that's another freakin' test blown."

Jubilation Lee scoffed in frustration as she blasted through the classroom doors. She launched herself into the bustling hallway, stomping and scowling at any student who dared make eye contact.

"Who cares about freakin' Henry the Eighth anyway? It's not my fault his dating issues made some stupid religious revolution in Germany or whatever."

She was tired and pissed. These history exams were getting increasingly difficult. What was she supposed to do, study? All night Saved by the Bell marathons wouldn't watch themselves.

A burst of sunlight greeted her, making her head throb. She sulked past the ivy covered archway reading "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters" straight toward the girl's dormitory. In one swift move she slid her backpack down her arms and pulled her keys from the side pocket. "I'm gonna take the nap of my life."

"Jubilee!"

"Cripes."

Jubilee stiffened as the lanky blond waved manically from across the campus' greenspace. He jogged toward her, ignoring her mental daggers willing him to turn around. She tried the door, realizing too late she had the wrong key.

She jangled through the glittery neon confusion that was her keychain. Why did she need a "Welcome to Bernadette, Iowa" bottle opener anyway? How many laser pointers could one girl own? She had painted her room key with metallic nail polish, right? It was Blindin' Blue... No. Purple Pizzazz... No...

Too late. She heard footfalls slowing behind her. Heaving a sigh, she turned to face the current bane of her existence.

"What could you possibly need, Drake? I've got an appointment with my pillow and this week's TigerBeat." She knew she was whining- maybe it'd make him leave.

Bobby visibly withered. "Uh, I was just wondering how you did on that killer of a test. How were we even supposed to know half of those dates? Like, uh, let's compare notes. When was the, uh, Battle of Hasty, or whatever?"

"Beat it, Drake."

"Come on, Jubes!" His puppy-dog eyes were nauseating. "I helped you this morning."

Jubilee yawned exaggeratedly. "Um, Bobby. It's the Battle of Hastings okay. And it was in 1492, Did you even read?" She spun on her heel to unlock the heavy oak door. Oy, mama needed some alone time.

"Uh, Jubes?"

Jubilee narrowed her eyes to slits, satisfied when Bobby crumpled his face apologetically. She put her hands on her hips, realizing she had forgotten her gloves in her haste to leave that morning. She had barely made it to class, and now...

"Yes, Robert?"

He just stood there for a minute, as if attempting to recall a message. His blue eyes turned skyward, and his brow wrinkled in concentration. Bleary eyed, she waited.

"Oh yeah!"

"What. Drake?" she hissed through clenched teeth, enunciating each word in a voice dripping with sleep deprived venom. Why couldn't he just wrap this little convo up? Zac Morris was practically calling her name! God, now she was hallucinating.

Bobby's eyes lit up in recollection. Jubilee tapped her foot rapidly.

"Oh. Hank said, uh, to be in the Danger Room in fifteen."

Jubilation Lee slumped to the ground outside of her doorway. She lay spread eagle on the flagstones, yellow backpack in one hand and seizure inducing keychain in the other.

Bobby just stared at her lying there, her choppy black pixie cut looking more dishevelled than he'd seen it in a long time. Only now did he notice her mismatched clothes. A spaghetti sauce stain was encrusted into her Leonardo DiCaprio Fan Club T-shirt. Her tattered jean shorts looked two sizes two small. And, why was she wearing pumps with gym socks?

"Uh, Jubes. You should probably change out of those clothes."

Jubilee lay there, unmoving, refusing to open her eyes. She exhaled sharply through her nose.

"Shut the fuck up, Drake."

* * *

**The Danger Room **

Hank observed his advanced students with pride. They were working through the sequence he had coded earlier that morning with an ease that impressed him. The computer simulated urban environment was similar to the ones he had navigated as an X-Man- exposed wires sparking electricity, piles of upended sidewalk and fragments of brick walls strewn about.

They were progressing so rapidly that soon he'd be able to introduce them to actual combat. Unable to stop the smile that bared his overly large canines, he circled the room doling out compliments to all those under his tutelage.

"Brilliant, Jamie. I am pleased to see that you are successfully managing your duplicates. You maneuver them as thoroughly as Lord Alfred Douglas did Mr. Wilde, eh?" He chuckled to himself as four Jamies stared blankly.

"Ah, Katherine. It seems you've phased right through that plate of aluminum alloy. We should thank our stars that no lithium-11 was present in the smelting process!" Kitty phased through a pile of Danger Room generated rubble and made her way to the other side of the cityscape to avoid another arcane anecdote of a joke.

"That won't do at all, Bobby. Lowering the temperature of Warren's back in some pallid attempt at humor is ridiculous to say the least. We must aid our teammates. Freezing his wings to his shoulders is far from helpful. He is not Icarus!" he veritably cackled.

He was on a roll.

The Danger Room's automatic doors swished open, revealing a rumpled and glowering Jubilee. Hank smoothed his blue fur and walked briskly toward her. He cleared his throat loudly, and found himself face to face with a fuming five foot one firecracker.

Unphased, he spoke.

"I believe Louis the Eighteenth of France was correct when he asserted that punctuality is the politeness of kings."

He looked down the bridge of his nose at the much smaller being whose hands were now bunched into tight fists. Unaware of the source of her distress, he continued carefully.

"Now Jubilee, tardiness is unacceptable in and of itself. But forty-five minutes has elapsed since Bobby..."

"Louis who?"

"What? No, Bobby..." He trailed off and paused, arching a bushy blue eyebrow.

What was she talking about?

"The Louises were the French kings?" she shook with rage and fatigue.

Superior intellect aside, Hank was thoroughly confused.

"The Henrys weren't the French kings?!" She screamed.

"Jubilee, there is no need to caterwaul like a child! Your puling is loud enough to wake the dead! Calm yourself, my dear, and do not shout at me in the presence of the other students. Have you no manners?"

Jubilee's small face puckered into a frown that rendered it unrecognizable. Saccharinely she dropped into a fumbling curtsy and headed toward Bobby.

Hank shook himself inwardly. He hated having to discipline the students. Jubilee was so promising. If only she were as committed to her studies as avidly as she was that ridiculous pop star- whatever his name was. She was a master of synergy, able to lead her peers in a way that truly maximized the efficacy of their unique abilities. The way she strode toward them now, with such purpose and vigor! She...

Hank realized moments too late that Jubilee's "purposeful" strides were a bit too aggressive. She looked as if she were going to war. Not to mention the handful of sparkling "pafs" she was now waving in Bobby's direction.

"DRAKE!" she practically growled, hurling herself at him, multicolored bursts of plasma exploding all around him in flashes.

"AAAAAHHH!"

Bobby screamed, covering his ears to protect them from the loud pop of the fireworks. He ran in large loping strides, nearly falling into the potholes strategically placed in the Danger Room simulation.

"AAAAAHH!" he continued as Jubilee gave chase, unsatisfied at the small holes she had burned into his uniform. She wanted to draw blood.

In those few moments, the Danger Room erupted in chaos. Kitty chased Jubilee, phasing through obstacles and mutants alike. With a flick of her wrist, Jubilee blasted a wall into rubble, effectively slowing down Kitty. A pointed glare in his direction was enough to keep Warren at bay. Jubilee flung her pafs left and right, overturning virtual garbage cans and setting fire to the flowerbeds of the computer generated apartment buildings. Finally she powered through the human pyramid that Jamie's dupes had formed to protect Bobby.

Robert Drake had never been more frightened in his life.

Before him stood a red-faced, five foot one firework. He cowered in the center of Jamie's dupe pyramid, pulling a Jamie-copy in front of him and walking backwards slowly. The dupe disappeared. Apparently even a kinetically generated duplicate saw crossing Jubilee as a potential danger to his health.

"WHERE", Jubilee boomed.

Bobby flinched. Why was he sitting on the floor?

"Were the Louis kings from, Bobby?"

From this perspective, she towered over him. He closed his eyes, reconciling himself to the death he had earned by daring to study with Jubilee.

"Uh."

^^- _Attention all students and faculty. An emergency meeting will take place in the Briefing Room in ten minutes. This meeting is mandatory for all X-Men members- both inducted and potential. Do not be late_.-^^

The professor's telepathic message snapped Jubilee from the red haze of anger that clouded her mind. Heaving a sigh she strode away from Bobby who lay on the ground in the fetal position.

Hank's mouth hung open at the destruction she had caused in mere minutes. A decimated fire hydrant spewed water on Kitty and Jamie. Warren stood in a corner of the simulation, avoiding wetting his wings. Walking to a panel in the wall, Hank pressed the touchscreen, melting the simulated urban environment away and revealing the Danger Room's obelisk shaped silvery interior.

Jubilee sauntered past him, swinging her arms cheerfully.

"You heard the prof. Punctuality is for queens, right?"

Hank scanned the room before rushing to Bobby. The boy lay with his eyes closed, his hair missing in patches where it had been singed off. He was mumbling something. Delirious.

"The Louises were from, uh, Spain. Right, Beast?"

Hank smiled at the mention of his team name. He hoisted the muscular teenager over his broad shoulders as if he weighed nothing. Shaking his head in semi-amused bafflement he carried him toward the stairs. He grabbed his glasses from his desk before entering the elevator that would take him to the aboveground wings of the Institute.

"Come, Iceman. Ororo is scheduled to brief us this morning."


	4. Chapter 3

****THIS CHAPTER IS RATED ON THE FINE EDGE BETWEEN K AND T (FOR LANGUAGE)

LIKE, IF YOU'VE EVER SEEN A PG MOVIE AND YOU'RE A KID, THIS'LL BE OK FOR YOU TO SEE, LIL CUTIE.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

New Orleans, Louisiana

The French Quarter

March 22nd , 1992

12:15 AM

* * *

**The LeBeau Mansion**

The French Quarter truly came alive some time after midnight. A few hours before the florid humidity of the day had finally given way to the cool reprieve of night. Bright pinpoints of light twinkled in the navy flannel expanse of a wondrous sky. Every being living and moving beneath that sky was truly blessed. Or so Remy LeBeau thought as he scanned the heavens, his red on black eyes turned toward the vastness of the universe.

Taking a long drag from one of his ever present clove cigarettes, he finally allowed the day's tension to slip from his shoulders. He exhaled into the night, deciding that nowhere on earth was there a patch of sky comparable to this one. Reclining in a porch swing, he thought of the nightlife of the city thriving a few miles away. Nowhere else on earth were the people like this. Tilting back his head he allowed his mind to wander. Nowhere else on earth were the women like this. He laughed to himself- a rumble that emanated from the broad expanse of his chest.

"Remy mon frère."

Shaken from the calm that enveloped him, Remy rose. He tossed his cigarette into a fragrant bougainvillea bush and ambled toward Henri who waited for him on another side of the wraparound porch. As Remy approached Henri's silhouette he noticed the maelstrom of emotions flickering across his face.

Annoyance.

Consternation.

Envy?

"Père be wantin' you."

Remy nodded his affirmation, already turning on the heel of his boot to press his keycode into the electronic lock that protected the headquarters of the Thieves' Guild from prying eyes.

"He say what he wan', homme?" Remy couldn't look into the eyes of his adoptive brother. He feigned concentration on the lock, pretending to input the wrong sequence of numbers to buy himself some time.

"Non, frère" Henri sighed, and the sound was full of anguish. "He didn' say."

Remy listened, his fine tuned ears noticing the exact moment the lock clicked open. He offered a curt nod and a tight lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Henri's mouth contorted into a grimace.

"Le diable blanc." he spat at Remy's back.

"Couyon!"

"Pourri!"

Henri stood silhouetted against the backdrop of the night, rasping futile curses at his brother's retreating figure.

Both of them knew exactly what Jean Luc wanted.

* * *

Remy rushed toward the bookshelves opposite the large picture window that separated the mansion from the teeming wildlife of the bayou outside. His heartbeats thundered in his ears. The thick pannelled bookshelves echoed the dark wood accents that filled all thirty-five rooms of the antebellum mansion. Removing a worn copy of David Copperfield he pressed his left thumb to the scanner it concealed and prepared to face his father.

Well, not his real father. Only God knew who and where that bastard was. As far as Remy was concerned, Jean Luc was the only father he'd ever needed.

The scanner confirmed Remy's thumbprint and opened the hidden doors.

He had always found the whole "doors behind the bookshelf" thing corny- a little too Batman-esque for his tastes. If he were ever to enter a musty old mansion looking for a secret entrance the bookshelves would be the first place he looked. Once, in a moment of youthful boldness, he related his potentially incendiary opinion to Jean Luc himself.

The older man threw back his head and laughed, wiping tears from the crow's feet that radiated from the corner's of his eyes.

Wheezing he turned to his son in a voice tight with restrained laughter. "Ba'man?" he'd said at the time. Remy recalled that day vividly- recalled Jean Luc pausing to breathe and resuming his thunderous guffaws.

Batman.

Everyone knew superheroes didn't exist.

He stepped onto the wallless lift that would deposit him at the entrance of the Thieves' Guild's underground headquarters. Inputting another series of numbers, he waited as the lift descended.

Damn, the security was tight around here.

Sure Jean Luc had earned quite a long list of enemies, but still. Remy was positive he could handle a few Assassins. The lift slowed to a measured mechanical halt as Remy took in the sight of yet another set of doors, this pair emblazoned with the Crest of Candra he had sworn so long ago to protect. Squaring his shoulders, he advanced toward them with what he hoped passed for confidence.

Jean Luc was more than the head of the Thieves' Guild.

He was his mentor. His father. He was his Père.

He strode purposefully toward the doors that stood, foreboding, gilded in purple and gold. Pushing them open, he started on shaking legs toward Jean Luc who sat on the Guild's throne before him. Staring into the warmth and pride of his père's eyes, he braced himself for the mantle that would be placed on his shoulders.

Fleetingly he thought of Batman.

* * *

Jean Luc observed Remy steadily as he strode through the door. He was quite a man now- his steps were sure and purposeful***. He obviously wasn't a boy anymore bodily. But was he ready?

"Père." Remy said at last, his odd eyes swimming with emotion.

Jean Luc merely smiled at him, his love for his son evident in the trembling gravity of his voice. Dismissing his bodyguards, he spoke.

"Remy, m' boy. I call you to me on dis day t' ask you somet'in importan'. A matter o' consequence, non?"

Remy raised and lowered his head in an approximation of a nod.

Jean Luc continued in his gravelly Cajun accent.

"It been a long time since we firs' met, hein?" he asked, a chuckle coloring the cadence of his speech.

"You ain' so skinny no more, homme."

Remy was silent. Jean Luc's dark brown eyes seared into his black-red ones. The younger man watched as his father sat hunched in his seat. His large body looked as if he had fought all his life.

In a sense he had.

"I'm gettin' ol', son. The Guild gon' need a new head when I..." he trailed off, his eyes filling rapidly with tears.

This was too much for Remy to handle. Unplanned displays of emotion thrust him into dark mental waters he was chagrin to navigate. He averted his gaze, unwilling to watch the man he'd practically worshiped all his life overcome by a foe as unformidable as his emotions.

Regaining his composure, Jean Luc spoke in a rush "I wan' tell you dat I trus' you, garcon. An' dat when ol' Jean Luc here kick de proverbial bucket you gon' be de one runnin' t'ings."

Jean Luc paused, looking Remy over to gauge his reaction. Remy lifted a shaking hand to his head, running his long fingers through the auburn hair that hung over the black headband he habitually wore. He avoided all eye contact with Jean Luc, instead toeing the ground with a large booted foot.

He almost looked like a kid again.

"Jean Luc's only condiccion, garçon" he said, unintentionally lapsing into Cajun French. "Is dat you complete a single mission, intended to ensure your absolute allegiance to the Guild. You t'ink you can do dat, homme?"

Remy faced Jean Luc once again.

Before him sat the man who had sired him- who had accepted the infant no one had wanted with open arms. Hordes of potential adoptees had thrust him away, frightened by the "unnatural" combination of his red irises on a black surface. As he grew older he found the New Orleanians' daughters couldn't keep away from the promise sparkling in his red-black eyes- at least until his mutant powers began to manifest.

He shook his head. Père had been there all along.

"Only one t'ing botherin' Remy."

Jean Luc's eyes were attentive. He had expected Remy to accept without hesitation.

"Oui, son?"

"Well. Henri be de oldes', non'?" he hesitantly offered. "Why don' he run de Guild?"

Remy watched his father, noticing for the first time how the years had changed him. Jean Luc was no longer the strapping, thickly muscled head of the Guild. He was an old man. What he needed most was rest. Nearly redacting his question Remy knelt at his father's feet.

Jean Luc's voice was barely audible. Remy leaned forward to catch the rasping whisper Jean Luc finally voiced. What had become of his father?

"Remy."

Jean Luc grinned widely, his wan complexion brightening by a degree.

"You special, homme. I known dat when you was a bebe, an' I know it now. You got dat brillian' power, non? You got dat ol' magic in dem fingertips o' yours."

Jean Luc's laugh was warm and quiet against the skin of Remy's ear.

Taking a final look into his father's eyes, Remy straightened. He `turned his head to calm himself- to steady the warbling in his throat that threatened to reveal itself in his voice.

Crouching again until he was eye level with Jean Luc, he quaked.

"Remy accep', papa."

A single tear navigated through the myriad wrinkles of Jean Luc's face.

"Vivienne waitin' in de East Wing t' give you de details. Hurry up an' leave. You don' wan' see dis ol' man cry."

Remy left the room smiling. The trailing end of his leather duster snapped sharply as a result of his haste to comply.

Jean Luc lay back in his throne, at peace at last. The Guild would outlive him after all.

His laughter rolled from the deepest recesses of his chest.


	5. Chapter 4

THIS CHAPTER IS RATED T (FOR LANGUAGE)

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Westchester, New York

1407 Greymalkin Lane

February 4th, 1992

4:32 PM

* * *

Ororo paced at the head the Briefing Room, her patent leather heels clicking loudly on the oak flooring. She reviewed her mental checklist, ensuring that all was as it should be, adjusting the stacks of referential news articles she had placed at each of the members of the X-Men' s seats, recalling any points she intended to emphasize...

Reminding herself not to hyperventilate.

Halting suddenly, she inhaled through her nose and began the breathing exercises Betty had taught her. The purple haired telepath had been besieged by Ororo's disquietude as an assault to her own sunny state of mind. Betty had explained the exercises and at the time Ororo had tried her best to listen.

Months ago they were ensconced in a sunny alcove of the mansion, Ororo's mouth pressed into a grim line despite the snowy serenity of the day. Betty had been chattering about her holiday preparations, complaining in feigned petulance about her gift choices. Ororo merely watched her, missing her own family horribly. The acute stab of pain at the base of her skull transferred almost immediately to her friend.

"Oy! You've gotta lighten up, love!" she had giggled in her ebullient English accent, rubbing the back of her smarting neck.

Ororo shuffled a pile of flight plans until not a single errant page corner was visible. She slid the pile into a manila folder, unsatisfied until that, too, was adjusted.

Smoothing her starched white cotton blouse she frowned.

Lighten up.

If only it were that easy. There were lives at stake.

The Briefing Room was immaculate- from the stainless steel conference tables to the picture window overlooking the campus greenspace, all was clean and tidy.

Ororo positioned herself in the exact center of this window. Clearing her mind, she lifted her forefinger to her temple.

^^- _Professor, I am ready._ -^^

She hoped her nervousness wasn't evident in the tone of the message. Countless times had he comforted her, had emphasized to her how worthy she was of his trust. As a girl he'd found her confused and brimming with potentially dangerous power. It was he who had explained to her the link between her emotions and the weather anomalies her mutant abilities caused.

The room darkened a little, prompting Ororo to glance at the wall of glass behind her. A puff of dark clouds rolled in, nearly obscuring the afternoon sun. She inhaled and exhaled measuredly, only stopping once the sky returned to its typical brightness.

Lighten up indeed.

^^- _Attention all students and faculty. An emergency meeting will take place in the Briefing Room in ten minutes. This meeting is mandatory for all X-Men members- both inducted and potential. Do not be late._-^^

The professor related the message she had dictated to him that morning in his usual clear, clipped tones. This mission was dear to both their hearts. She valued his trust in allowing her to head the X-Men alone.

She valued his trust in allowing her to put the rage that roiled inside her to some productive use.

The Briefing Room's automatic doors swished open. Charles Xavier navigated his telekinetically powered wheelchair to Ororo's side.

"I have awaited this moment for some time, Storm."

Her mouth quirked at the use of her team name.

Charles Xavier telepathically determined the locations of each member of the X-Men. His eyes drifted gently shut in concentration.

"They are on their way."

Ororo wrung her hands. Goosebumps peppered her arms.

She was caught up in rubbing them as the X-Men appeared in a rush.

Jean sat primly next to Scott as he launched into a tirade about the cleanliness of the cafeteria. The redhead made eye contact with Ororo and rolled her eyes.

Jubilee burst into the Briefing Room in her usual fashion- snapping her bubble gum and slouching. Ororo noted the rumpled PE uniform she wore and the bags under her eyes. Hank appeared soon after, assisting a limping Bobby.

A puff of blue smoke signified Kurt's arrival. The smiles he and Ororo exchanged were genuine- Kurt being one of the few on the teaching staff whose company she enjoyed without fail.

Warren, Kitty and Jamie all filed in, bumping each other for a seat closest to the front. All of the X-Men were engrossed in their individual conversations. Kitty rambled nonstop to Jubilee who was taken up in glaring at Bobby and Warren. The volume in the room increased as Bobby animatedly detailed the specifics of his close encounter with death itself. Kurt reviewed German notecards with two Jamies. Hank shushed his students to no avail.

Finally, Rogue appeared in shredded denim cutoffs and an oil stained Lynyrd Skynyrd crop top and plopped sideways into a seat.

She paused chewing her left thumbnail long enough to notice Ororo clearing her throat.

"Hey, y'all! Storm's tryna speak. Quiet down, or ah'm gonna have ya deal with me!" She tossed her mass of russet curls over her shoulder and blew the white streaks that framed her face out of her eyes with a puff of air from her lower lip.

Winking at Ororo she handed her the floor.

* * *

Ororo's lightly accented alto addressed the ragtag mob of mutants before her.

"Hello, all. I am pleased to see that you have arrived on time. The Professor and I decided this meeting would concern a matter of great importance. The packets I've assembled for each of you will contain all the information I intend to explain this afternoon. I will expect you to study them tonight, and to be prepared for the emergency diplomatic mission scheduled for tomorrow morning."

Jubilee's mouth fell agape.

Homework.

Her jet colored mop top dropped to her desk with a metallic thud.

"I am pleased to note that Hank has authorized our X-Men in training to accompany their mentors on this mission. The experience will be invaluable to you, I am sure."

Jubilee peeped at Storm over the fortress she had made of her arms. The woman was disturbingly... well... perfect. From her elegant shiny ass shoes to the snowy white bun that perched atop her five foot eleven frame.

She was calm and collected and always made the correct decisions. To top that all off she was punctual as fuck! So why was the weather goddess with the rockin' bod her mentor? She'd be better off with Kurt, at least he was chill and all.

Scott raised his hand to interject. Jubilee stifled a groan. Give it a rest, Cyke.

"Ororo." he began. "Only you and the Professor know the specifics of this mission. You do intend to tell us what this will, you know, actually entail, right?"

Jubilee considered glaring at the Institute's Golden Boy. He was gonna have to chill with those ridonkulous history tests. And could he give it a rest with the cheesy reporter voice he was pulling?

Ororo pressed a button on the remote in front of her, dimming the lights and lowering a projector screen that was housed in the ceiling.

Her blue eyes bored into Scott's as she spoke. "I assume we are all familiar with current events surrounding the Dutch occupation of South Africa."

A photograph of Nelson Mandela raising his hand in triumph as he celebrated his release from prison appeared on the screen.

"Yes." Scott countered, crossing his arms.

Ororo turned to the screen and paced slowly.

"Although there have been triumphs in the quest for freedom from the Nationalist Party, racial segregation laws determining housing arrangements are still in effect."

She paused to ensure all were listening.

"Negotiations are currently underway that will eventually determine the fate of millions of South Africans. There is resistance to the abolition of this gross violation of human rights and a select lobbyists advocate expanding the program to include other marginalized groups."

She clicked the remote and the image on the projector dissolved into a diverse group of student's rioting.

"One of these lobbying groups..."

She clicked the remote a final time. Each member of the X-Men sat in shocked silence as a familiar red, white, and blue logo filled the screen- the letters "FOH" were written in white over the outline of an eagle.

"... we are well acquainted with."

Hank sat with his fingers steepled, staring in concentration at the desktop in front of him.

"Ororo, if I am not mistaken you are insinuating that the Friends of Humanity intend to expand the reach of apartheid to include those with the Mutant-X gene."

He considered her over the rims of his glasses.

Ororo was unable to disguise the waver that rippled through her accented voice.

"Yes, Hank."

"Well where to we come in?" Jubilee blurted out, already infinitely more interested than she'd been in weeks of dull classes.

Jubilee was surprised when Ororo's full lips broke into a wide smile, revealing a set of brilliant white teeth.

"I am pleased that you asked, Jubilation. I believe it would be fruitful for the X-Men to make an appearance at the Billikheid Summit. As a diverse group of mutants- many of us with intersecting marginalities- I believe we might be able to convince the Nationalist government to abandon its dedication to factionalizing the South Africans."

Scott stood abruptly and faced Ororo- determination etched on his brow.

"Professor, do you support this mission?"

Charles Xavier was positioned facing the picture window- his back turned to the mutants he'd taught for decades. The X-Men, both first end second generation, waited for him to speak.

Pivoting himself to face them, he began in his usual calm and measured tones.

"I trust that Ororo's meticulous preparation for this mission will not be in vain. All of us are aware of the persecution mutants are facing around the world."

He offered Ororo an approving smile before continuing.

"The intention of this Institute is to provide a safe space for mutants. I believe it is prudent to expand our mission to include all mutants- including those outside of the immediate area and regardless of the potential diplomatic risk."

Ororo beamed brightly before speaking.

"Please review your packets tonight- they will be of great aid to you in understanding the gravity of this mission. You are all dismissed."

Ororo watched as the X-Men dissipated as quickly as they had arrived. They left in groups, chattering excitedly about their respective roles in the mission. Within a matter of moments, the room was empty excluding her and the professor.

Relieved beyond words she turned to leave the room, shuffling her papers a final time before advancing toward the sliding doors. In a rush of gratitude, she turned to the professor, clasping both his hands in hers.

"Thank you, Professor Xavier. You know what this means to me."

He chuckled quietly.

"Ororo, you know that you may call me Charles."

Charles Xavier was pleased to note an extra spring in Ororo's step as she exited.

He professor turned once again to the window, satisfied to behold a vibrant and cloudless sky.


	6. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Mad excited for chapter five, yo.

I tried to seem like an impressive/professional writer, but alas I am a teenager and that's just not happening.

womp

womp

womp.

Thank you reviewer(s)!

*kisses you on the facecheeks*


	7. Chapter 5

THIS CHAPTER IS RATED T (FOR SUGGESTIVENESS... IDK IF THAT'S A WORD)

* * *

Chapter Five

Westchester, New York

1407 Greymalkin Lane

February 4th, 1992

11:58 PM

* * *

**Xavier's Institute for Gifted Mutants**

It was getting late.

Ororo pinched the bridge of her nose directly between her eyes, fighting the headache that threatened to stifle her productivity.

These flight plans weren't going to review themselves.

She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. A glance at her classroom's clock informed her that it was nearly midnight. Deciding that reviewing the Blackbird's flight plans all night would be a Pyrrhic victory should she fall asleep at the helm, she headed toward her loft. The promise of warm water and vanilla scented body wash beckoned her as she scaled the stairs.

From the moment she entered her bedroom's doors she was at peace. Ororo's loft crowned the mansion- a crystal beauty of glass walls and cozy minimalism. Her indoor garden lined the perimeter of the room, a bevy of succulents and flowering perennials, absorbing the sunlight that was so plentiful in the daytime. The windows were tintable- per her request to the professor- and Ororo tinted them now as she removed her clothes in preparation for the shower she so desperately needed.

Tossing her blouse and bottle green pencil skirt on the fluffiness of her cream colored duvet, she sighed contentedly. Today had gone far better than she could have imagined. She tugged her hair from its rigid bun, allowing the ivory waterfall of waves to cascade down between the dark wings of her shoulderblades. After rolling her shoulders a few times, she peeled off her stockings and underwear and padded softly toward her shower.

Only once the water was at the precise temperature she called "warmish hot" did she step in, worry sliding off of her in waves and disappearing down the drain with the suds. She tipped back her head, wetting her hair. In a moment of playful abandon she summoned a cloud made from the sweet vanilla steam that rose from the shower tiles. She augmented the flow of the shower with the miniature rainstorm she suspended over her head. Levity engulfed her and she laughed to herself, reveling in the sound as it bounced off of the walls.

Goddess, when was the last time she had laughed?

She was certain it must have been sometime during her and Forge's last "on" period in their on-again-off-again cardboard semblance of a romance. She laughed again this time- a harsh choking laugh that threatened to end in tears. Bowing her head to the water she noticed that in remembering Forge, she had dropped her cloud. Pulling the mist that surrounded her into small puffy companion she nearly laughed again.

She was making friends out of water vapor now? Was she actually that lonely?

Ororo stepped out of the shower all too soon, missing the heat of the stall the moment she left it. She wrapped a towel tightly around her body and was surprised when her powers alerted her to a disturbance of some kind outside of the mansion- approaching quickly a mere mile or so away. Ororo felt the change in atmospheric pressure and temperature as a purring in her blood and then as a steady hum as the object- whatever it was- sped closer.

Tucked away in her private corner of the mansion she had heard nothing. Slightly disturbed, she hustled out of the bathroom and wrested the first pajama set she found onto her still wet skin. She vigorously rubbed a towel through her dripping waves**- there would be no detangling tonight- and snatched her robe from the hook on her door. She thrust her arms through the sleeves and glanced at the clock- 12:45. The Institute's curfew had fallen nearly four hours ago.

She had assumed that all the X-Men were asleep in preparation for tomorrow's mission. What members of the faculty did that leave still awake? Which mutants had the ability to move that rapidly, and raise such a din while doing it?

The noise was familiar, a popping roar that rang out into the night. Ororo nearly facepalmed once the sound finally registered.

In the millisecond it took her to identify it, the noise stopped. Untinting her windows, she peered out onto the Institute's gravel driveway only to see a helmeted rider straddling a large black Harley Davidson motorcycle advance toward the school's garages.

Ororo fled the comfort of her room and summoned a wind to carry her downstairs as swiftly as possible.

Logan was back.

* * *

The clanging of haphazardly thrown tools falling against the cement floor jarred Ororo from any illusion of a happy reunion. Logan's entire upper body was buried in Forge's cavernous tool chest. He was rummaging for something that most likely had to do with the gray smoke spewing from the tailpipe of his motorcycle.

Coughing quietly, she watched him- the thickly knotted muscles of his back and shoulders rippled beneath his shirt with each thrown screwdriver. Logan stopped suddenly to sniff the air. His back was turned to her. He couldn't have...

"Great to see ya, Goddess." he veritably snarled in mock reverence. He didn't bother turning around, and resumed his search.

Ororo winced as the anxiety flooded into her, tensing her shoulders and tightening the muscles of her neck. The florescent lighting of the garage differed sharply from the warm ambient light of her bedroom. The acrid harshness of oil replaced the incense cones that burned hear her bedside.

Myrrh.

Her body became even more rigid as she thought of her mother. She teetered along the edge of vertigo, her rapid flight down the stairs had dizzied her considerably. Forcing down her roiling emotions, she addressed Logan curtly.

"Logan. The Institute's curfew has already passed. The children are asleep. You must not wake them."

She debated telling him about the importance of their rest in light of the mission tomorrow.

No.

He had abandoned the X-Men of his own volition. She would make no appeal to him now. A thousand questions swirled in her mind. Why had he left? What could have possibly prompted him to come back?

Ororo departed the haven of her thoughts only to find that Logan had apparently stumbled upon whatever he sought, and had moved toward his bike. She stood in the doorway, a distance the Wolverine could have closed in three strides. Her ire rose as he ignored her. Frustration slipped through the calm facade she attempted to project through her voice.

"Why are you here, Logan?"

He finally acknowledged the accented smoothness of her voice, pivoting toward her with his his dark eyebrows lifted. He smirked, a lopsided twist of his lips that held something brutal and decidedly unfriendly.

She shuddered as his eyes roamed over her liberally, temporarily regretting her haste in dressing and wishing she'd remembered the belt to her robe. She pulled the fabric more tightly around her body, her clear eyes hardening into the chilled blue of sea ice.

Logan regarded her, a hint of derision burning in the slate grey of his eyes. He ran his tongue slowly over the sharp whiteness of his teeth.

"Never seen ya with yer hair down, Goddess."

Ororo glared at him- annoyed to the highest degree with his smugness. He crossed his hair-dusted arms across his chest and cocked his head to the side, surprised at how satisfied he was by the scent of unfettered anger that radiated from the weather witch. He returned to the task at hand, clearing the debris from his muffler with one of Forge's doohickeys. He waited patiently for her eyes to cloud over.

What spectacle did she have for him today? Would she try to fry him with some ball lightning? Call on a wind to ram him into the wall? It didn't matter.

Ororo spoke before he could laugh to himself.

"Why you are here is of no matter Logan. The X-Men must rest in preparation for our mission tomorrow."

He glowered at her.

"The mission which, I am sure, you will not be joining us in completing."

"That's right, goddess." he fired back.

He fought not to bare his teeth- struggled to keep the beast from taking over. Deciding that a two minute scrubbing would have to suffice, he remounted his bike. No need for a helmet- in regards to vehicle accidents he was immortal. His expression was passive once he finally faced her.

"Hey, it's o' no matter to me. I got better places ta be than here with Xavier tryin' to fulfill some pipe dream o' human-mutant interaction aside from fistfights."

He bowed his head- he'd lived too long and seen to much to harbor any illusions of peaceful coexistence. Rubbing a hand over the blue-black of his jaw, he keyed up his bike and revved the engine once before speeding into the cool evergreen blackness of the Westchester night.

Ever in tune with the weather, Ororo sensed the subtle warming of the air swirling around Logan. She sensed it as he became a mere point of noise and motion in the distance. She sensed it as a disturbance in her blood that persisted into the intrusion of daylight.

She rolled from her bed, another sleepless night completed to term.

A pipe dream he had called it.

Absentmindedly, she wondered where she'd last left her uniform.

She had a team to lead.


End file.
